As far as I am concerned there is no contention here: to argue the case plays into the hands of the politicians
who seek to ride on the back of past and present commentary on matters of race. Perhaps the writers of
these articles do not recognise the power and legitimacy they give to racist politicians and the outdated,
worn-out messages that directly impact Bame communities. But this sort of rhetoric is dangerous, and
rather than increasing connection between politicians and the people they serve, it reduces the sense of
belonging in society.
Prince Harry’s impassioned plea to society, his appeal to the common ground and a shared humanity in
defence of his wife, shows us all just how important it is to send out powerful messages that seek to reduce
conflict and not increase it. Though of course he is already being condemned for speaking out about
unconscious bias and racism as if he is somehow wrong in his condemnation and out of order for having
given voice to his experience.
The importance of a “sense of belonging” has been highlighted in almost every report, document and
review on race equality that has come out in the last couple of years and is a vital component to
psychological wellbeing. We all need the possibility of being able to feel good enough, to live well enough
and to function to the best of our ability within the context we find ourselves.
With one sweep of a tweet that sense of belonging so vital to our wellbeing is diminished and we are left
feeling vulnerable. Home is, after all, a place where we deserve to belong. Yet persistent, unwanted calls to
“go home” run deep in our psyches, bringing back painful memories of the indefensible actions taken
against us in the past – and are still being perpetrated to this day.
We see this too in the UK, with our current prime minister’s comments about Muslim women looking like
letter boxes, and references to black people’s “watermelon smiles” only the tip of the iceberg. If the leader
of a country feels free to make these comments on a national stage, what bleaker opinions are held behind
the privacy of a closed door?
My life began as an abandoned baby left on the streets of Mumbai, rescued by the local police and sent to an
orphanage where I spent the first months of my life. I was eventually adopted into a large, multiracial family
with six brothers and sisters from different backgrounds. I had no agency in the matter of my own migration
and adoption. So when they suggest that people like me should “go home”, where should I go? There is no
home for me to return to. Although I would love to meet my birth parents and brothers and sisters (should
they exist), I feel a constant loss in my life.
I found myself unwittingly arriving in Ireland in the Sixties, eventually reaching England at about the age of
two and a half. I struggled through the care system, I struggled through an education system that was all too
often bullying, rejecting and exclusionary. By the age of 11 I had managed to find ways of simply not going
to school because it felt safer to roam the streets, to hide behind cars in car parks or to spend time in
friends’ houses eating chips and smoking. It seemed only logical to me to avoid spaces where not only did I
not feel I belonged but where I was physically threatened and verbally abused on a regular basis.
In 2019 we are witnessing political acrobatics of the worst kind, a kind that
robs people of their wellbeing and their sense of belonging
I had the “wherewithal” to survive outside of school and to lead a double life in the sense that my adoptive
white parents had no idea where I was, or what I was up to. Miraculously I did reasonably well at school, so
they thought everything was OK with me.